“Summer Haiku: Of Thunderstorms and Breathing”
“Watching thunderstorm,
Boiling over western woods;
Child rapt in wonder.”
NPR is having a summer haiku fest. I sent in the above. It is based on a real event, which recurred many times during summers when I was growing up.
I used to love watching thunderstorms as they approached. I would stand outside, near the door, so that I could dash in if the lightening got too close or when it started raining. I would watch as the black clouds boiled up over the woods to the west of our pond. If there wasn’t too much (or any) lightening, I would watch as the rain marched through the field beyond the pond, and then across the pond and the pasture that was close to our house. I would try to wait until the last possible moment, and then would run into the house. Those were wonderful—indeed, sacred—moments.
I had a bad spell yesterday evening. Couldn’t breathe. I’ve been on blood thinner for years, but blood thinner doesn’t necessarily destroy the clots. Blood thinner hopefully keeps the clots from getting too big or numerous, but it does not keep my body from producing them. Every now and then, apparently, one of them breaks loose. My lungs seem to be the favorite target of these little internal critters. I’ve been diagnosed with pulmonary embolisms on two separate occasions.
It is scary to not be able to breathe. However, to be breathless in wonder is a sacred moment.
Perhaps death is like that. Perhaps, if I take a childlike attitude toward death, I will be able to watch it boiling up, with breathless wonder. If I begin to breathe again, I go back to my usual tasks, glad to be alive.
But, if I am not able to breathe for a longer period of time, and the storm fully breaks over me, I will stand still and still stand, like a child in rapt wonder.
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